TITLE: Debaran Revisited

Debaran Revisited
by Ellis Murdock

Detective Sgt. Tressa Ross was once again profoundly grateful for the switch inside her head that allowed her to turn off her partner's prattle at will. He was a sweet child and a capable enough officer, but once he got off on a tangent, there was no stopping him. Today's rant seemed to be devoted to the evils of LA as opposed to the virtues of NY City, from whence the two had just arrived the previous day. For herself, she didn't particularly care where she was on the planet as long as it furthered their assignment - without a doubt the most ambitious of their respective careers. If handled well, it might help nudge her one more notch up the food chain and, she reflected somewhat ruefully, a 41-year old woman in the N.Y.P.D. here in the enlightened year of
1979 needed all the help she could get. If we can bring down Toby Debaran.

". isn't it?"

Oh, wonderful. Tuned you out a little too well, didn't I? She hadn't heard a word Det. Rob McMahon had said for at least 15 minutes. She obviously couldn't fake it, so she went for the only option remaining.

"Sorry, Mac. I faded out a bit there. What did you say?" She prayed he wouldn't feel the need to repeat the entire monologue.

"Whatsamatter with you? Jet lag?" He grinned. "I said, this is kinda a long commute, isn't it?" Apparently her expression left something to be desired, because he continued. "Y'know, all the way from a place near the beach to the city for work every day? The traffic is hell."

"Oh. Well, we know that one is on disability leave and the other doesn't seem to be working now, either. Maybe it's a recent change of address." In truth, Ross hadn't given much thought to the two LA detectives they were on their way to meet: Detectives Sgt. Hutchinson and Starsky were just an information conduit really, a way of filling in as many blanks as possible before she ventured undercover. They had supposedly had some success in infiltrating the Debaran organization while it was still based in LA and, although the LA Police operation hadn't exactly been an unqualified success, their Captain in New York believed his detectives could only benefit from a face-to-face with their LA counterparts.

They eventually pulled up to a modest little cottage located nearly on the beach. Lovely, Ross thought as she turned around, allowing her senses the freedom to explore some of the nearly-unspoiled expanse of beach and ocean. Unlike her partner, she wasn't at all convinced that the best things on earth were man-made. Whatever feelings of serenity the scene may have engendered in her quickly took flight when confronted with the less-than-happy Nordic-looking
blond who answered their knocks.

"Detective Starsky?" McMahon ventured hopefully, as they presented their credentials.

"Hutchinson", he sighed. "You're late." He ushered them in and, motioning them to keep their voices down, added, "My partner is resting and shouldn't be disturbed. Perhaps I'll do?"

Actually, no, Ross thought. "As I understand it, Det. Starsky was the primary in your case, was he not? We were under the impression that we would have the opportunity to speak with both of you."

"That was three pain killers and four and a half hours ago. Things change." He folded his arms as he said it, the tone almost a challenge.

"Oh come on.", McMahon began, already annoyed. He was stopped by the restraining hand of his partner.

Ross met Hutchinson's defiant glare and replied evenly, "This wasn't our idea. We were sent here to gather information not already in the files, whatever might assist me to stay alive and productive while I'm undercover. You and your partner may be able to further that end. If you can, we would appreciate it. If not, we'll leave now. It's a long flight back to New York."

Hutchinson blinked first. "Please", he said finally, gesturing toward the couch and chairs, "have a seat." He was more subdued now, almost resigned as he sighed, "I'll go see if he's awake."

Gotcha. Ross allowed herself a small smile.

When he re-emerged from the bedroom, Hutchinson pulled himself up to his full height and approached the two detectives. His voice was low and even - perfectly controlled, deadly serious. "You can talk to him, but understand this: the conversation stops when I say it does. Period."

"Of course", Ross replied, wondering why the image of a mother bear protecting her cub from hunters should suddenly flicker across her mind.

"Fine. I need to get a chair. Coffee?"

***

Ross wasn't sure what she was expecting to greet them in the bedroom, but was unprepared for what she saw. The man propped up against the pillows in bed was young, probably no older than his partner, but thin to the point of being gaunt, pain lines etched on a greyish-white face made even more pallid in contrast to the dark curls of hair. His eyes had that slightly dull quality that so often accompanies the use of drugs. Morphine or Demerol?, she wondered. Mother just before she died. Cancer?

"Starsk, these are Detectives Tressa Ross and Rob McMahon, NYPD. This is my partner, Detective David Starsky." Presumably, he had already filled his partner in on the reason for their visit.

Starsky flashed a lopsided grin and said, simply, "Hey".

Hutchinson motioned them to the chairs and settled himself on the bed alongside his partner, coffee mug in hand. The formalities dispensed with, Ross handed over the relevant files and kept silent while the two LA detectives - heads almost touching - poured over the contents. A completely indecipherable, nearly monosyllabic conversation ensued, the shared mug passing between them without either man even looking up.

"See?"

"Hm. This, too."

"Remember? And then."

"Yeah, but didn't.?"

"No. There. I don't think."

"Wasn't. But."

"Oh, yeah."

Fifteen or twenty minutes must have passed in this fashion and Ross didn't think that either man had actually bothered to complete a sentence. There was a lot to be said for verbal shorthand. They covered the basics next, Starsky offering a brief synopsis of their operation.

"I went in as a minor-but-ambitious arms dealer from your neck of the woods; Hutch as my money launderer. We were under for over a month, working our way up the chain o' command pretty well before our contact went dippy and got our covers got blown. We -"

"New York!" McMahon exclaimed, pointing his finger at Starsky.

After a second or two, probably trying to determine if it was meant as a comment or an accusation, Starsky smiled. "Takes one t' know one, kid."

McMahon gleefully proceeded to lead the other detective on a merry trip down memory lane, throwing out street names, discussing the best places to find assorted edibles, even analyzing sports teams. He was blissfully unaware of the effect this little detour was having on his partner, who was desperately searching for a way to get them all back to the business at hand without actually drawing her weapon.

"How can you stand to stay here?" McMahon asked, upon hearing how many years Starsky had been marooned in LA.

"It's not so bad", he declared. "The weather's good and.", he smiled softly, ."I've found a few things here worth stickin' around for."

"It's even better now that Debaran relocated", Hutchinson added, also smiling. "You're welcome to him."

It was a brilliant segue and Ross had to resist the urge to hug the blond in gratitude. "You had to arrest your contact in the middle of the operation, is that correct?" She threw it in quickly before McMahon could open his mouth again.

"He had some bad habits", Hutchinson answered, his mouth contorting in distaste. "Chief among them, raping and killing prostitutes. Of course, we didn't know that going in."

"Aw Hutch, he did promise to be on his best behavior, y'know. How could our lords and masters possibly guess he wasn't a man of his word? He seemed so trustworthy."

"Yeah, and what are a few prostitutes anyway, when you're going after the 'bigger prize'? I know." He sighed. "Starsky came upon him in the act and stopped him. He took exception to it and blew our covers in retaliation. It didn't take long for word to spread through the organization and those at the top pulled up stakes and disappeared into the night."

"We did get quite a few little fish and mid-management types, though", Starsky offered. "It wasn't a total loss."

"But Debaran flew", McMahon finished.

"Toby never really was our target. It woulda been nice, but realistically." Starsky yawned and shifted position, wincing with the effort. He appeared to be tiring quickly.

"Debaran's hard to reach," Hutch interjected unnecessarily. "He doesn't like to get his hands dirty with the day-to-day stuff. It might interfere with his image of himself as Savior of Western Culture."

"How do you mean?" Ross asked.

"He has a somewhat elitist view of the world. Sees himself as an intellectual and artistic connoisseur, using his money to buy up art, antiques, rare manuscripts, and the like and preserving them for those select few who can truly appreciate life's finer things. Above all, these treasures must be protected from the onslaught of the barbarians."

"That would be us", Starsky grinned.

"Speak for yourself," Hutchinson teased. "He uses that goal to rationalize what he does, and if some of the "huddled masses" suffer for his actions, it's no great loss."

"Toby brings new meaning to the word "careful", Starsky continued. "Doesn't trust anyone, doesn't let anyone get close, certainly doesn't fraternize with the underlings. We were hoping for at least a few of his lieutenants, but no luck."

"Which of his higher-ups did you get closest to?" Ross inquired.

"Lionel Maling, although I worked a bit with Martin Banks, too. Strange guy, had a thing for the color orange." He shrugged. "Maling is the only one I dealt with who had access to Debaran. He reported directly to him, seemed to be trusted with acquiring some of his expensive toys, but from what I could tell their relationship was strictly business and pretty limited at that. He had an assistant, don't remember his name. We worked through the manifests a few times."

"Jerko".

"Don't call me names."

"Not you."

"Well," he gestured towards their guests, "don't call them names, either."

"J - U - R - C - H - O", Hutchinson spelled impatiently. "The assistant - his name was Jurcho."

"Oh." The grin strongly suggested that he had known that all along. "Don't interrupt. Helmut Krueger seemed to be the most connected to Debaran, but I only saw him once. Never even met 'im. Next was probably Matthew Peele - is he still around?"

"I hope so," Ross replied mildly, "he's essential to my cover."

"What exactly is your cover?" Hutchinson asked.

Ross and McMahon exchanged looks. Her cover was a closely guarded secret, need-to-know only, but if they were going to help.

"Peele's wife gave a child up for adoption 37 years ago and has been looking for her ever since. She's about to find her."

McMahon whipped his head around to face his partner, obviously surprised.

"My discretion, remember?" she asked quietly. He still looked uncomfortable as she continued. "We turned a middle-man, a "fixer" that Debaran uses frequently to arrange his transactions. The plan is to meet "by chance" while I'm getting to know Mommy and fall madly in love. It should give me access from two fronts without drawing undue suspicion."

"Dangerous game", Hutch commented. "Why you?"

"Because I'm very good", she replied simply.

"She's amazing!" McMahon gushed. "Thinks fast on her feet and is unflappable, no matter what. Top of the class in self-defense, too."

Both of the LA detectives smiled as Hutchinson asked, "Oh yeah?"

"She could take you" he said confidently.

The my-mom-can-beat-up-your-dad aspect of her partner's announcement was so absurd that Ross had to resist the urge to laugh out loud. McMahon possessed an unabashed pride in his partner that sometimes seemed to border on adolescent hero-worship. Endearing, but a little embarrassing, too.

It was Starsky this time who picked up the dropped thread of the conversation. "Try to make nice with Maling, if you can: he's old school and something of a White Knight when it comes to the ladies. He'd be a good ally for you."

The rest of the conversation was devoted to the tedious task of covering the personality traits of the major players, their strengths & weaknesses, girlfriends/boyfriends, and potentially useful quirks. Starsky actually seemed to nod off a few times and at one point doubled over with a gasp of pain: he was obviously fading quickly and Ross wasn't at all surprised when Hutchinson declared - albeit politely - the proceedings closed.

"I think we've given you about all we can."

"But.", McMahon wasn't quite ready to let go.

"It's all right", Ross interrupted. "We have enough." An agreement was an agreement, after all.

Ironically enough, it was Starsky who kept it going. "Wait, there's another thing,--" he began, but was stopped by a coughing fit that became progressively more violent. His partner quickly leaned him forward, one hand supporting his chest while the other rubbed light circles on his back.

"Easy, easy. It'll pass in a minute, just try to relax."

Starsky frantically reached for his partner's hand, found it, and clutched it in a death grip. He was obviously in considerable pain, but the panic of being unable to breathe was overriding everything else.

"It's all right.that's it. Deep breath. Good. There you go." The soothing words continued in a steady stream until the worst seemed to be over and he eased Starsky back, half against the pillows, half against his chest. The dark-haired man sank into the other's arms, exhausted.

"Two..things..", he gasped before he was stopped.

"Ssshhh. Catch your breath. We'll wait."

Ross saw the look on Hutchinson's face and turned to McMahon. "Why don't we go get some more coffee and", turning back to the blond, "if we may use your phone, we should check in with R & I." Hutchinson either didn't hear or was too preoccupied to give an answer. Ross took that as consent and, tugging lightly at her partner, left to give the other two a few minutes to recover.

Starsky tried again upon their return, looking as if he were finally losing the battle to keep his eyes open, his words just beginning to slur. "First of all, Banks is addicted to pistachios. I mean, seriously." He looked up at his bemused partner.

"Pistachios, huh?"

"Yeah. Really. Bought 'em by the case."

"That's good, Starsk." To Ross and McMahon, "You might want to write that down."

Starsky looked miffed. "You could track 'im just by following the trail of shells. Once we even." He glanced up, saw the broadening grins all around, and mumbled, "Okay, I'll admit, it hardly seems worth the effort now."

"Not at all," Hutchinson teased, "this could break the case wide open.".

He ignored the barb. "Secondly, ." He paused, opened his mouth, then closed it again. Looking up at his partner, asked hazily, "What was second, Hutch?"

"I don't know, Gordo. You tell me." They regarded each other with open affection, Hutchinson patiently waiting for his partner to reclaim his train of thought.

"Huh." Another lopsided grin appeared on his face. "Guess I must be gettin' a little loopy."

"Nothin' new there." He tugged fondly at a curl. "You've been loopy all the years I've known you."

That produced a slight giggle. "Oh." They stared at each other for a long moment. "Oh. Secondly. there was the girl."

"Ginger?" Very gently, "We've already covered that."

"No. Not her, dummy. The other one. You know."

Hutchinson looked completely blank.

"You did surveillance on 'er. The brunette? You remember. Real short. Slippery."

Nothing.

"Linda? Lisa? Lucy? You know."

As if a light bulb suddenly exploded over the blond's head, he became more animated than Ross had seen all afternoon. "Oh her. Oh, what the hell was her name? Laura." He grabbed his partner's arm. "Lorna. Lorna Jensen", he said triumphantly.

"Yes." Starsky pointed an index finger at Hutchinson and laid his head back on the shoulder, content now to let the other continue.

"She was a mystery. Always on the periphery of what was going on, but we could never tie her to anyone specific in the organization. She seemed to have unlimited access to everyone but had no record, and didn't seem to have any particular function. She magically appeared at most of the transaction sites a day or two ahead of the action, but once again, no one ever saw her do anything and no one we busted would talk. We followed her for awhile and thought we had something once, but."

"Ya lost her."

"I did not!"

"Y' did."

"It was a bike trail, Starsk. I was in a car."

"I'm just sayin'."

"At any rate," Hutchinson concluded with a sigh, "if you spot her, it's a good bet that there's a deal about to go down. Good catch, Starsk", he added with sincerity. "She completely slipped my mind."

"And you call yourself the brains of this partnership."

"Just remember who's fixing your meals for the foreseeable future", Hutchinson quipped.

After a moment of due consideration, "And it's true. Yer also cute -"

"Better."

"- an I don't care what anybody says, you've got great taste in cars."

From the resulting laughter, Ross gathered that it was a private joke. She glanced at McMahon. "Anything else?" He shook his head. "Well, I guess that about does it. Thank you so much for your time. You've both been a great help."

"I've been more help than him", Starsky offered.

"You really are feeling brave today, aren't you buddy?"

He grinned at his partner.

"Watch it," Hutchinson warned, "or you're liable to find yourself locked in here with nothing but my Wagner recordings to keep you company."

"You wouldn't," Starsky squeaked in mock horror.

"The entire Ring Trilogy. I have 'em and I'm not afraid to use 'em", he said, making a threatening gesture with a pillow.

Starsky made to duck, ended up clawing for his partner with one hand, grasping the mattress with the other.

"Starsk?"

"M'okay", he replied weakly. "Just, who's spinnin' the room?"

"Well let's get you lyin' down, darlin'," the other drawled, "and you might just feel better, huh?" Hutchinson turned to the other detectives as he moved around to the opposite side of the bed. "If you want to wait out there, I'll see you out in a minute."

McMahon gathered the files and quickly exited the room. Ross intended to follow, but paused in the doorway, turning to see a bit more of the scene unfold. There was something here, something that existed between these two men that cast a powerful spell and she suddenly found herself unwilling to leave it behind, at least not until she absolutely had to.

She watched as Hutchinson pulled his partner against him while one hand rearranged the pillows; then simply lifted the other man up and laid him back on the bed. Starsky must have been speaking, because the blond sank down on one knee and moved his face to within inches of the other's, listening intently. They were so completely absorbed in each other just then that Ross had the impression the rest of the world could collapse around their feet and neither man would have taken any notice. Whatever was being said made him smile: he gently reached up and brushed a wayward curl from his partner's forehead, hand lingering there as he replied. How could such a simple gesture be so. Intimate? Ross blushed, suddenly feeling like a voyeur. She turned without a sound and left.

Hutchinson joined the pair in the main room soon after, and the trio made the expected noises polite society deems appropriate for the ritual of saying goodbye. Shoving hands into his back pockets, he made a final request, "Would you mind letting us know what happens with the case?" He nodded toward the bedroom, "It would mean a lot."

"Of course", Ross agreed. "We'll try to keep you in the loop."

"Look -" McMahon couldn't stand it anymore, "- if you don't mind my asking, your partner."

"Yes?"

"What's wrong with him?"

It was in his nature to be direct, Ross knew, but she still winced inwardly.

Hutchinson looked genuinely surprised by the question. "No one told --? I just assumed. Stupid", he muttered under his breath. Inhaling deeply, he studied the carpet with great interest, worrying a spot with the tip of a boot. Without looking up, "There was an assassination attempt. Three months ago, the police garage. They approached on his side. I got down, he had nowhere to go. Took four bullets." His voice remained surprising unemotional, considering; the words delivered as if read from a report.

It wasn't until he raised his head that Ross realized that it wasn't detachment, just that the entire play of emotions seemed instead to concentrate in the man's eyes. They really are the windows to the soul, she mused. At least in your case. His were darker now and haunted, eloquently conveying the excruciating fear and grief in a way no words ever could.

He added, "He was just released a couple of weeks ago."

"My God. It must have been bad." McMahon also had a gift for understatement.

The reply was so soft, they had to strain to hear it. "Couldn't have been much worse." After a moment of uneasy silence, Hutchinson seemed to sense something more was expected of him. "Today's a bad day. Really, he's recovering well", he offered. "It'll just take time."

Ross wasn't sure whether that last sentence was for their benefit or his. "Do you take care of him by yourself? I mean, surely, they would pay for a nurse."

"He doesn't need one. He has me."

It was spoken like a universal truth, something that should have been immediately self-evident. And perhaps, Ross reflected, it was.

***

They approached the car in silence. Coming face to face with an officer injured in the line of duty was like looking into a mirror at your own possible future: it was nothing if not unsettling. There but for the grace of God.

"Damn," McMahon, said finally, "that's a helluva load to carry." A long pause. "How long d'ya think they've been together, anyway?"

"I wondered the same thing. Did you see how they - ? How.", she couldn't come up with the word to describe it, but her partner understood anyway.

"Yeah, I noticed. But still, that kind of dedication.," his voice trailed off. "Whaddya think? Guilt?"

"No." She paused, thoughtful now, hand resting on the keys in the ignition as her mind replayed some of what she had seen that afternoon. "No, I don't think so." In the comfortable silence that followed, both retreated into their own thoughts for awhile. The ghost of a smile softened Ross's expression as she started the car. "That wasn't guilt," she said finally, in the voice she reserved exclusively for stating absolutes. "That was love."

finis